


peace

by santanico



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: F/F, Gen, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-13
Updated: 2015-03-13
Packaged: 2018-03-17 14:56:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3533642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/santanico/pseuds/santanico
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>they walk together and walk away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	peace

**Author's Note:**

> very self indulgent, but fun to write. mostly posting because i haven't posted here in a long time.

 

in the aftermath, peace is not so easily found.

they walk for hours, only stopping at rivers to refill the few canteens they have. hawke says very little. merrill asks how far they will have to go. fenris rolls his eyes.

they make camp early in the morning, after the first time anders stumbles, drops his staff, and hits the ground. fenris and varric are the first to reach him and pull anders to his feet.

“we need to stop,” hawke says, folding his arms over his chest. his staff is a burden. he shifts from foot to foot and watches as fenris pulls anders arm around his shoulder. varric holds anders up by the waist as anders’ head tilts to the side and lolls.

“thank the creators,” merrill sighs, resting herself on the ground. varric and fenris lead anders to a fallen trunk of a tree. they’re surrounded by trees, and hawke only has a vague idea of how far the forest goes. “we’ve been walking for ages, i was wondering if the sun would ever come up.”

isabela settles down next to her and merrill leans in, sighing again. hawke says nothing as isabela’s arm snakes around merrill’s waist, but he senses isabela’s gaze resting on him. instead he walks over to anders, whose breathing is shallow as aveline and fenris hover over him.

“your problem, _hawke_ ,” fenris sort of half growls, grazing his shoulder against hawke’s as he steps past him. hawke chooses to ignore the words spoken under fenris’ breath - “should have left them to die,” - and instead settles down next to anders.

“are you alright?” hawke asks, resting a hand on anders’ shoulder. anders starts to nod, then shakes his head. aveline is frowning, a sort of disapproval on her face that’s common but more hollow than it’s been in the past. she bends down just enough to rest the back of her bare hand on anders’ forehead.

“he has a fever,” she says promptly. hawke nods. the sweating had been what had tipped him off. “c’mon, then. let’s not waste everything we’ve done. time to make camp.”

-

it’s three days before anders’ fever breaks. he sitting up in his makeshift tent, merrill handing him a bottle of water, when he finally says, “i think i’m feeling better.”

merrill smiles, and hawke does too, but everyone else remains quiet.

“rest up until after lunchtime, then,” hawke suggests, crouched down next to merrill and anders. despite tensions, the three of them have been - better than expected. hawke supposes he shouldn’t be surprised. three apostates, finally truly homeless, with only each other to depend on? if anything’s a surprise, it’s that there’s anyone else left in camp.

“thank you,” anders says, looking at hawke with wide eyes. he sips from the bottle, and his lips are still noticeably dried and cracked, his voice low and broken. “i will be ready soon.”

hawke nods and steps out of the tent.

fenris is standing in front of the tent, arms crossed.

hawke tries not to smile. every time fenris looks at him like that, his thick eyebrows knitted together and jaw clenched, hawke just remembers that around fenris’ arm is that red piece of cloth, stolen from a ripped tunic that hawke had on the first night that fenris stayed.

despite the years, fenris still wears the token, knotted tightly around his armor. when he would play wicked grace with varric and take off the gauntlets, the fabric would remain, wrapped around fenris’ wrist.

“yes?” hawke says and fenris’ face falls, tension draining.

“it’s not safe to stay here.”

“i know.”

“are we _leaving_?”

“today, yes.”

“…good, then. i will prepare.”

-

“you’re quiet.”

“hm?” isabela looks up from the crooked dagger she had been twisting between her fingers. “yes, i suppose i am.”

hawke sits beside her and crosses his leg. fenris and varric are at the fire some feet away, fenris watching hawke and looking away when varric snaps at him. merrill and aveline are eating dinner near anders’ tent, and anders is picking at his meal.

“is something bothering you?” hawke says.

“hah,” isabela laughs, shaking her head. “aren’t there others who deserve to be asked that question?”

hawke frowns. “do you value yourself so little?”

“no,” isabela says, stiffening. “i just know my emotional burden, as opposed to the others. merrill pretends, but she’s crumbling. i do not pretend. i do not crumble.”

hawke chuckles. “who else is falling apart?”

isabela looks at him, setting the dagger down on her lap. it looks heavy on her bare legs. “you,” she says. “anders, of course, but he doesn’t hide it.” she shakes her head. “fenris is on the brink of leaving.”

“what?”

“you haven’t noticed? he has _doubts_.”

hawke’s stomach twists. it must be tonight’s dinner, undercooked meat.

isabela glances at the fire. “still, he looks at you. he looks at anders, too. varric, aveline. merrill, sometimes. i think he wants to be her kin.”

hawke snorts. “now i know you’re just fucking with me.”

isabela smiles. “oh, no. he doesn’t know he wants it, but…he does. it’s a trait of his.”

“did you sleep with fenris?” he doesn’t mean it to be so blunt, but isabela just laughs.

“almost. we almost did. that was years ago. he does not wear a blue scarf around his ankle to show his favor for me, though.”

hawke is quiet for a moment. “you noticed?”

“ _everyone_  noticed.”

“isabela.”

“hawke.”

“how long will this be possible?”

she looks at him, says nothing for a moment and smiles. “i don’t know,” she says, and then touches his cheek. hawke tries not to lean but her hand is warm. “oh, you thought it might be forever, didn’t you. but it can’t. it never lasts. we’ve made it this far.”

he closes his eyes and rests his hand over hers. “i love you,” he says.

she laughs again. “you’re an idiot.”

-

hawke wakes up to warm hands on his face and lets out a strangled noise - _please don’t let those hands wrap around my throat._

“it is only me,” fenris whispers, his fingers brushing down to hawke’s neck. hawke scrambles backward, catching his breath and cursing.

“goddamnit, fenris,” he whispers, blinking against the blackness of his tent. “what the shit are you doing?”

“i…” fenris trails off and hawke’s stomach churns. “i apologize. go back to sleep.”

hawke stops himself from sighing and reaches out, hoping to grab onto something. he can barely make out fenris’ figure in the dark, though enough light from the moon manages to sink through the plaster of the tent coverings that he can almost see an outline of a thing body.

he holds onto fenris’ arm, bare except the cloth around his wrist. “don’t go. just don’t frighten me like that. wouldn’t want to whole camp waking and tearing you to shreds in the dark.”

fenris is quiet and doesn’t make an attempt to move closer. still, he doesn’t pull away.

“my apologies,” he mutters after a minute of silence. they haven’t woken anything up. hawke is grateful for his own tent, though maybe it has something to do with…well, he’d rather not think about it. 

“oh,” hawke whispers. “you can glow whenever you want. good to know.”

he sees fenris smile. “perhaps. you might never be certain, however.”

“how…are you.”

fenris stops smiling. “i am lonely.”

“you’re not alone.”

“that isn’t what i said.”

hawke kisses him for the first time since the night of the battle. their lips are both too dry for it to be comfortable. hawke reaches behind fenris to hold the nape of his neck. fenris doesn’t tense or resist, instead opening his mouth.

there is a gnawing hunger in the pit of hawke’s stomach that he fears may never end.

fenris ends up on top of him, and hawke lets himself be lost in the moment. forget what will happen in the morning. forget it all.

-

“where the hell is he?”

“ _calm down_ , anders -”

“don’t you _dare_  tell me to calm down - if that bastard disappeared i’ll hunt him down _myself_  -”

hawke opens his eyes and squints through the brightness as merrill and anders’ voices rise outside. fenris is already sat up, glaring at the slit in fabric at the front of the tent.

hawke shifts. he feels much worse about the fenris and anders roommate arrangement now.

varric’s voice interrupts anders’ furious hissing. “shut the _hell_  up, would ya? andraste willing, fenris is one of two places -”

“do go on, _varric_ ,” anders answers icily. fenris makes no move to leave the tent, his expression still dark. he’s naked, only covered slightly by one of hawke’s makeshift blankets.

“either the elf’s on a walk or he’s in hawke’s tent and you’re makin’ a damned fool of yourself.”

anders goes quiet and the silence is only interrupted by isabela giggling and merrill sighing.

“fenris, if you’re there…” aveline says, not far from the tent.

“fools,” fenris whispers under his breath, standing.

“are you going to -”

“yes.”

hawke rolls over onto his stomach and buries his face into the robes he had made into a pillow.

fenris steps out of the tent and the swearing and gasps begin.

hawke sometimes swears he’s simply raising children.

-

“do you miss carver?” anders asks one night, a few days after the incident. the situation is even more awkward now, with fenris, varric, and aveline in one tent. anders has shifted into the tent with merrill and isabela, who are quite unhappy. hawke continues to wonder why no one will join him. even fenris, with his dark eyes and warm hands, refuses the offer.

“’course i miss carver,” hawke mutters. “he’s my brother.”

“sure, but he’s also a templar-trained grey warden with trust issues and the tiniest self esteem i’ve ever seen.”

“like you’re one to talk,” hawke snorts. anders pauses momentarily, frowning and looking down at his hands. “sorry.”

“no, you’re…not wrong. i am more a coward than your brother.”

“you think my brother a coward? you know, anders, i do love you, but sometimes i wonder if you even know what you’re doing.”

“love, hm?”

“that is what i said.”

anders shakes his head. “a fickle love, then. you will learn.”

hawke clenches his fists. “my brother by blood is gone, but you are also my brother, anders.”

“yes, right. and merrill, your sister? the blood mage apostate? and don’t think i haven’t seen the scars on your palms.”

hawke licks his lips.

“not that it matters. i am possessed by a literal spirit. fenris, you, merrill - you were all always right. no room to judge. and it is more than your hands that are scarred. what will you do, hawke? when there is no room left in your heart?”

“for what?”

“forgiveness. for me.”

hawke glances away.

-

“oh, maker.”

“get out!” isabela shouts. anders ducks out of the tent, shaking his head.

it’s fenris who inquires, “what now?” in a long drawl.

they’re close to a city, one that hawke isn’t sure is safe and had been scouting all day. he’s too tired for arguments, and sighs as anders rests near the flames.

“isabela and merrill,” he mutters.

varric says, “do elaborate, blondie.”

“i caught them kissing.”

“oh,” aveline says.

“yes.”

“good for them,” hawke mutters. “someone ought to be happy around here.”

“your bitterness grows old,” fenris says. varric snorts.

aveline says, “let’s not fight. for one night. anders, why not share hawke’s tent, give merrill and isabela some space?” aveline seems to realize how ridiculous her suggestions sounds and she opens her mouth before shaking her head. “or - something.”

fenris clicks his tongue. “no, it is quite alright, why not just huddle hawke with as many apostates and blood mages as you can? that always ends well, i mean, why not look at orsino as an example? danarius? shall i go on?”

“ _fenris_ ,” aveline snaps, her voice strained.

hawke stares at the fire.

-

isabela and merrill leave together, hand in hand. they don’t sneak away, they deny nothing.

isabela offers hawke fifty silvers. “i’m sorry,” she says under her breath, holding the pouch of coin out to hawke. “i couldn’t scrounge up anything more.”

“isabela,” he says, voice tight. they had never been as close as he had hoped - she had offered him her company many years ago. he had rejected her, at the time so bothered by fenris’ walking out that he couldn’t imagine anyone else. still, he does love her.

“it’s time,” isabela says. “please.”

“i won’t take your money. take care of merrill. let her take care of you. that is…all i ask. the only favor i can request.”

fenris, varric, anders and aveline are watching from the fire pit. it’s always around the fire where things are seen. where kinship can be formed.

merrill blinks at him when isabela turns around, and smiles. hawke had come to think of her as - something. a sister, maybe. he had wanted her to be family, wanted her affection, and now she left with an arm around isabela. she smiles though, warmer than he’s seen since they first met. certainly, it is the happiest she has been since the death of her keeper, and she’s running away from everything.

“where will you go?” fenris asks from the fire. his voice carries and isabela turns.

isabela licks her lips and grins. “wherever the tide takes us, dear.”

fenris sits up, frowns and blinks.

he doesn’t say anything else, and hawke watches isabela and merrill as they trek away, towards the setting sun.

-

they are lost in the mountains when aveline begins to cry.

no one says anything, because it’s not the kind of crying that induces sobs and the clawing at of hair. tears roll down her cheeks, sometimes one at a time, often two or three at once. she says nothing, licking the tears from her cheeks and wiping them off her chin with the palm of her hand when she removes her gauntlets.

“i have to go home,” she says, and her voice shudders. “maybe not kirkwall, but i must find donnic. i must know he is alive.”

she hugs hawke so tight he loses his breath. she hugs varric, too, and touches fenris’ cheek. “don’t let him do anything stupid.” she looks at anders, who averts his eyes. “good luck,” she says, to him and then also to hawke.

when she marches, hawke finds he cannot stop himself from crying, either.

then there were four.

-

they stop in a small village, book a night at a hotel. two rooms. an awkward situation. four men and two beds. fenris looks relieved.

it’s that night that varric comes into fenris and hawke’s room, ignoring the two of them lying together mostly naked in bed and says, “look, i appreciate the hospitality but i need to…to go. we’ll see each other again, i’m sure. i’m sure we will.”

“be careful, varric.”

varric smiles. “hawke…elf.”

fenris snorts. “dwarf.”

“be careful,” varric echoes back at them.

hawke knows he won’t see varric for years, and rolls onto his side as the door closes. fenris touches his cheek.

-

anders is gone at daybreak.

“why did i even pay for two rooms?”

“i’m…sorry.”

hawke looks at fenris as they pack. “for what, exactly? you didn’t kill anders, did you?”

fenris bites his lip to hide a smile, shaking his head anyway. “i would never do that…to you. i know he was the closest thing to your sister you had. that companionship…”

“yes, well. bethany probably wouldn’t have blown up the chantry.” hawke shakes his head. “you…are right, though. he was still a good man, no matter what he believed of himself.”

“perhaps,” fenris says. “perhaps he knew i would force him to stay if he had confronted us. confronted you, rather, as seems to be the pattern.”

“i would have thought you’d be jumping for joy,” hawke chuckles, throwing his pack over his back. less to carry now, with only two people. and anders had left coin in his room. _fool_ , hawke thought, blinking hard.

“when anders asked you to kill him…i initially had hoped you would, and i thought it was perhaps because i believed he deserved to die. i realize now that i…empathized with him. it is an unpleasant realization.”

“really? empathy? not just pity?”

fenris shrugs before sheathing his blade and throwing it across his back. “he knew his crimes. he was hopeless. i have…been hopeless, before.”

hawke doesn’t say anything.

“do you remember when i told you…how i killed those who helped me, and returned to danarius?”

hawke swallows. “i didn’t forget.”

“yes, well. at that moment, i was…quite a bit like anders. it’s infuriating to think. but he thought he had no other choice. perhaps he really didn’t. maybe i didn’t, either. it is a small comfort, but a comfort nonetheless.”

“fenris.”

“yes, hawke?”

hawke rests his hands on fenris’ face. fenris blinks. “are you going to kiss me?”

“i’d like to.”

“then do it.”

-

warm summer months fade into fall, and they travel with nothing but the clothes on their backs and backpacks full of herbs, food, and water in canteens. they don’t fight because what use is it? maybe defend themselves from a stray few darkspawn, but otherwise they stay out of sight, out of mind.

“do you miss magic?”

hawke sits up in bed. another hostel in a town in ferelden. they had crossed the sea about a month ago, hoping to find something…familiar. fenris had suggested they return to lothering, but hawke knew that lothering would not be the same, even if it was rebuilt.

“there’s nothing to miss. it is always with me.”

“i haven’t seen you perform more than a basic healing spell when you ram your knee into a rather hard table in months,” fenris says. he’s lying on his stomach, hugging the pillow to his chin. he doesn’t look at hawke, and hawke looks at him.

he shrugs. “it doesn’t really matter. i can feel it…in the pit of my stomach. it lies beneath all the guilt. and next to the love.”

“the love?” fenris says.

“yes. particularly for you.”

fenris’ fingers curl in the fabric of the pillow. “it figures.”

“i meant no offense.”

fenris turns his head over on the pillow and sighs. “i’m not angry. just confused. i love you.”

“right.”

“ _all_  of you. magic bits, too.” hawke turns over, leans down and curls his fingers in fenris’ hair, kissing the back of his neck. “will we remain, like this? friendless, alone, just the two of us?”

“no,” hawke murmurs, stroking down fenris’ back. “not forever. i promise you. not forever.”

fenris rolls over onto his back and looks at hawke. hawke shifts, runs his fingers along fenris’ throat and the lines of the pale blue tattoos. fenris sighs, closes his eyes.

“together,” hawke murmurs. “despite the odds.”

“despite the odds,” fenris repeats, and smiles.


End file.
